


Put your faith in my stomach

by watchthequeenconquer



Category: Kingdom (TV 2014)
Genre: Aftercare, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Blow Jobs, Come Marking, Comfort Food, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Pre-Relationship, Self-Hatred, Stuffing, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25971865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchthequeenconquer/pseuds/watchthequeenconquer
Summary: Spiralling after a hollow victory, Ryan binges on pizza to fill the void. When his appetite flags, Jay is there to provide some encouragement.
Relationships: Ryan Wheeler/Jay Kulina
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Put your faith in my stomach

**Author's Note:**

> All the "Daddy" comments and no Ryan/Jay fics? Not one? 
> 
> This had to be remedied. 
> 
> Title from Ed Sheeran's 'I'm A Mess'.

Ryan Wheeler is half way through demolishing his second pizza when he realises he isn’t alone.

Though he’d undisputedly murked his opponent in his first fight since returning to Navy St, the victory felt hollow.

His head hadn’t been in the game until had been forced into captivity. He’d failed himself, unleashing the monster inside himself that he’d nearly lost his mind to control after brutalising his father, lying when he’d said he’d never again engage in the bloodsport that made his blood sing.

“Destroyer.” He snorts to himself, anger flaring viciously as he shovelled more food into his mouth. He wanted to strip the tattoo from his skin with own blunt, bitten down fingers nails, tear open his own chest.

His preparation had been basically non-existent, compounded by his first sleepless night in the gym, a mess of alcohol, vandalism and his eventual run in with Alvey.

He hadn’t been built for cutting in his prime. Four years later, his blatant disregard for his own self-preservation had only made the process even more of a living hell.

Then to top it all off, his fucking Coach, the guy that had begged him to return against his better judgement, hadn’t shown up till the walk through.

Yeah, he’d won but who gave a fuck? The whole camp had been a complete shit show and now he just felt empty, used.

After ten too many beers at the celebratory party, Ryan realised belatedly that the nauseating cramping in his stomach wasn’t just the adrenaline still coursing through his body, but hunger.

Snagging two cardboard boxes and a six pack, he’d proceeded to slip away from the ribaldry into the depths of the house.

Flopping onto the couch, Ryan cracked open another cold one and snag the first piece. Rather than savour it, he crammed it into his mouth with both hands.

Once he’s started, he can’t seem to slow himself, ravenously desperate to fill the depthless hole inside that starvation has created, that his own self loathing has burned through his insides. A gaping wound that can’t be plugged.

Pausing only to slug his beer haphazardly, Ryan moves onto the next slice, then the next, burying himself in the mindlessness of stuffing himself.

He’d always loved carbs too much to be able to easily maintain his fighting weight. When he’d wrestled in high school, his father had always shaken his head good-naturedly at his lack of self-control, when he’d have his head in a toilet the night before weigh-ins, tear mingling with the spit and sick covering his face.

“All the natural talent in the world, and no discipline. You’ll never make it if you keep putting that shit in your mouth, son.” He’d laughed, his impressive frame filling the doorway, casting its shadow over him, shielding him from his disappointment.

“Yes, sir.” He’d mutter, bobbing his head pathetically, suppressing the whine in his throat when the door shut, leaving him in the quiet with the crushing shame of his own inadequacy.

What’d give to hear his dad laugh at him again like that.

Regret and hatred and despair rise up, bile coating the back of his throat in bitterness. Determined to force it back down like every other emotional response that has never served him as usefully as his rage, Ryan starts in on the second half of the pizza with a vengeance, barely feeling it touch the sides as it goes down.

He’s three quarters of the way through the second box when his body begins to protest,  
metabolism overriding his will power.

“Fuck me.” He groans appreciatively through the last mouthful, dropping his head back against the couch and letting his eyes flutter shut.

“How do you want me?” comes the unexpected reply in a familiar, wicked tone.

“When you put it like that...” Ryan jokes without open his eyes, his face crinkling as he smiles in spite of himself.

“Champ gets what the champ wants,” Jay Kulina continues, his weight settling on the table in front of him, “Though you’re going to have to ask a lot nicer after all the shit you pulled during camp.”

Ryan snorts, saying nothing as he shifts uncomfortably. He can feel Jay’s sharp eyes on him, cutting through the poor light, and he feels too exposed, regrets being shirtless all of a sudden. He can feel his stomach expanding beneath his hands, bloating to accommodate the excess.

“Come have a line with me; enjoy the spoils of war, my friend.”

“I’m good.”

The silence sits thickly between them, marinating. It’s not as uncomfortable as it should be; Jay’s known Ryan long enough to adapt to his wildly swinging moods. Stick and move.

“How does it feel?” Jay interrupts it suddenly, undeterred by the lack of conversation, studying his old friend with bright interest. He looks dangerous in his fight night attire, deceptively overstated, a few buttons undone with the formalities over, exposing the barest hint of his well defined chest.

“Unsatisfying.” Ryan returns after a second in contemplation, chewing his bottom lip, unable to hide the flatness in his voice as he reluctantly opens his eyes. His head is hazy, the after effects of the binge slowing him down, muting his racing thoughts.

“Your performance suggested otherwise.” Jay says, glancing down at the mostly empty boxes in front of him.

“Excuse me?” Ryan barks defensively, moving to sit upright. He immediately regrets the challenge. The movement sends a sharp spasm of pain through his abdomen, winding him with its intensity.

“Easy big boy, wouldn’t want you to strain something!” Jay laughs as he eases himself back into the couch, hissing.

“I did it because I had to. Not because I enjoyed it.” Ryan snaps between shallow breathes. It could be a slowly emerging injury from the fight, but he’d bet its more likely just from eating so much, so fast after days of depletion.

“If it’s just business, as you’ve inferred so unconvincingly, why are you hiding out here, licking wounds that don’t belong to you?” Jay counters, relentless.

It was a gift of his that Ryan had always admired begrudgingly; always pressing, always finding the angle, manipulating any situation advantageously and pulling off mind-bending, ridiculous feats of agility, physical or otherwise, to achieve the desired result.

Ryan, unable to find the words to retaliate, does what he always does. Covers his head to absorb the blows, taking more damage that necessary until an opportunity presents itself for him to capitalise on.

“Why are you so ashamed to acknowledge what you are?” Jay presses.

“Fuck you.” Ryan bites back, brow furrowing. It’s impossible to focus on the verbal barrage when the pain in his stomach is becoming more intense. He can feel it physically contracting beneath his folded hands, seizing with as the waves of nausea begin to ebb into his consciousness.

Because for all his alpha posturing, he’s never been the aggressor, always fought defensively after the take down, ground and pound once his weight is behind it. Somewhere beneath the rage that keeps him functional, he’s always been the polite, quiet kid that never had the heart for a career in violence.

“This is your problem Ryan, and this is a metaphor for life, so please try to keep up.” Jay philosophises, sliding on the couch next to him as though proximity will emphasise his point, “You let yourself be baited into striking range ever time. Drop your guard too easy when things get tough.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a little bitch, I heard you earlier.” Ryan deflects sarcastically.

Any further attempt at showing his teeth so he can salvage his pride and slink off somewhere darker, more isolated, to recuperate is interrupted when his stomach gurgles loudly between them.

“Did you just growl at me?” Jay grins, delighted. Lightning-quick, he’s on the offensive, straddling Ryan’s thighs for easy access and inspection, taking easy control of the mount.

“Sorry.” Ryan apologises reflexively, bracing himself against the next rolling wave, unable to hide the wince from his reply.

They’ve always been physical with each other, in and out of the cage as fast friends and training partners, but never like this.

He can feel the embarrassment bloodying in his cheeks, painting his neck and chest like he does his opponents, smearing them across the white canvas.

“That right there, is exactly what I’m talking about.” Jay crows, jabbing a finger into Ryan’s bare sternum for good measure, causing him to jump under him, “You’re a goddamn killer, Mr. Wheeler. Stop taking punishment when it is your God-given design in life to inflict it.”

Ryan’s breath hitches as the finger gentles in its pressure, trailing down to inspect the pronounced curve at the top of his abdomen.

“Now, what seems to be the problem?”

“It fucking hurts, man.” Ryan whinges, unable to help the pathetic noise that tears itself from his throat.

“Did you eat too much, baby boy?” Jay coos, voice equally low and gentle, a handler coaxing a startled predator backed into a corner. The hardened pad of his finger spirals lower to trace the protruding outline of the muscles in his six pack.

Rather than mocking, his voice is strikingly gentle, feather light touch lighting him up like a live wire. The combination does things to Ryan that only add to the brightness of the blush staining him, betraying his sensitivity.

It’s so overwhelmingly intimate and it’s been so long since he’s been touched by anyone else in a way that was invited, not sparring for a fight or being knocked around in prison.

Is he that fucking starved for affection, for attention? He wonders sometimes with the epic tantrums he throws for Alvey, his desperation to be the sole focus of his world his prime motivation for smashing up the gym.

He knows no one in his life gives a fuck about him, not really, not personally. His coach doesn’t show up for him. His family wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire now. The only person he ever loved more than himself no longer cares about him outside of the acclaim and pay day his win would bring to the gym.

“Y-yeah.” He stutters hollowly, unable to manage anything more, emotionally spent as he tips his head back to stare blankly at the ceiling.

Jay rewards his stilted response with more torturously gentle caresses, hands roughened by a lifetime of scrapping providing the most delicious friction against his stretched out skin.

“How much did you eat?” Jay continues, slowing down the motions even more.

“Too much.” Ryan grunts, the muscles in his neck straining, thighs jumping against the ticklish sensation of the too soft touches littering his torso.

“That’s not what I asked.” Jay hisses. The light, exploratory touches are replaced with a sudden pressure as he pushes down hard.

“Fuck, asshole!” Ryan yelps. He surges forward reflexively, trying to create space between them, but an experienced forearm pins him in place. He writhes, desperate to escape the unbearably sharp pain.

“Answer and I’ll stop.” Jay demands.

“A box.” Ryan lies quickly, sighing when the pressure relents immediately.

Nearly bites through his lip suppressing a cry when Jay sympathetically soothes the same spot with firm sweeps that trail up his battered ribs, shaping around his widened waist.

Somehow, Ryan’s hands remain balled into fists by his side, burying themselves into the worn material of the couch in a desperate attempt to ground himself.

He should be fighting the urge to lash out, to shove him off, but it’s terrifyingly easy to surrender.

He’s always been so self-assured on his back as a wrestler, comfortable with his ability to regain his hold over the situation, but this? This is outside of his repertoire completely.

“But what’s this?” Jay declares, casting a glance over his shoulder accusatorily at the discarded boxes.

He shifts his weight with the graceful fluidity that has always belied his deceptive striking power, planting his entire palm firmly on Ryan’s chest while leaning back to inspect the contents.

The firmness of the shove and the sight of his wiry body contorting while still rendering him completely trapped causes Ryan to choke on his own breath. To make matters more complicated, Jay’s tight little ass grinds right over his lap as he moves.

“You haven’t even finished.” Jay twists back to face him, a warning edge to his tone.

“I’m stuffed!” Ryan protests weak, shivering in mortification as he feels his cock begin to shape in interest.

Jay raises an indelicate eyebrow, not missing it, lips twisting wolfishly.

“Like it or not, you’re gonna finish it.”

Ryan stares at him dumbly.

“Come on dude, seriously, enough.”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch, whinge, whinge, whinge.”

Jay’s tone is dismissive, bored. It makes Ryan’s blood run hot. Who the fuck does Jay think he is? No one talks to Ryan Wheeler this way, not his family, not his ex, not even Alvey. Professionally and personally, the world exists to bend to his will, not the other way around.

Still…

“Fuck.” He grunts as his stomach cramps again, hands dropping to cradle it delicately.

“Undo your pants.” Jay orders.

When Ryan stares up at him in confusion, Jay slips off his lap and onto his knees in front of him. The single motion is jaw-droppingly smooth and executed with a precision normally reserved for professionals of an entirely more dangerous nature than themselves.

“It will help, you big baby.”

When Ryan hesitates, Jay reaches rakes his nails down his thighs, clawing his way down to the zipper of his too-tight jeans.

“I-I’m not wearing underwear.” Ryan admits, flush returning full force. Coming straight from the fight to the afterparty with only his trunks, clothing had been a major afterthought.

“You little slut.” Jay chuckles with a shake of his head, “Need some action so badly that you forgot your panties, huh?”

He peels down the zipper slowly, and Ryan is too entranced by Jay’s filthy words, too relieved to feel the pressure lifting off his stomach to even be bothered by the light swathe of his public hair peeking out.

“Lucky you’ve got Daddy here to take care of you.”

Ryan nearly howls when Jay begins to massage the strip of skin where the waistband has cut into his flesh.

“There you go.” Jay whispers, talented fingers soothing the angry red marks.

“F-fuck, please…” Ryan splutters, unable to believe how pathetic he sounds, how ridiculously hot it’s making him to be reduced to this trembling, snivelling mess of reactions.

The dribble of helpless groans only increases in volume as Jay’s hand wanders dangerously lower, swiping across the protrusion of his hip bones.

Jay uses the distraction to reach back and grab the unfinished box, pulling out a slice.

“I c-can’t…” Ryan shakes his head, hissing as Jay winds his fingers into his pubic hair and tugs, hard.

“Wrong answer,” Jay corrects, cat-like eyes narrowing, tone thick with disappointment as Ryan shrieks, nearly kneeing him in the face in the process. Jay, who gets hit in the face for a living, doesn’t flinch or release his hold on the sensitive area.

“You want to be good for Daddy, don’t you?”

Ryan doesn’t want to be good. What he wants to tell Jay to fuck off, shove him away and gouge out his pretty blue eyes all at once. He’s just considering the quickest way to move without sacrificing his own nuts, when realisation hits him hard in the gut.

He wants whatever this is more than all that, more than his blustering reputation and pride and dominance. He’d do anything to get out of his own head, out of the spiral of disgust and hate that he feels for himself.

No one else gives a shit about him and Jay is right here, offering it up freely, ready to take the weight off his shoulders and take care of him.

Ryan nods.

“Need to use your words, Mr. Wheeler.”

“Yes…” Ryan replies slowly, the words thick like molasses on his tongue, “…Daddy.”

“Very good, baby.” The praise doesn’t sound false or condescending, and fills him with a strange warm that he didn’t know he’d been craving, “Now, take a bite.”

Ryan dips his head, taking the pro-offered food into his mouth, begins to chew. Even luke warm, it’s still so fucking good after weeks of tasteless chicken and steamed vegetables and protein shakes.

Jay feeds the entire slice into his mouth and Ryan accepts it, chewing it just enough to be able to swallow it down.

“See? You’ve always been a good finisher, Ryan, you just need a bit of encouragement.” Jay nods sagely, before producing another slice.

This one goes down harder. He manages to swallow the first half and thinks he’s in the clear when the food all but gets stuck in his throat in its unwillingness to be consumed. His stomach is a globe, so hard and distended that he has no idea how he’s going to fit anymore.

“I can’t do this!” Ryan heaves, feeling the panic rising in his chest with the food threatening to repeat on him.

“Calm down; you can handle it, promise.” Jay begins to rubbing hard, tight circles in the dead centre of his stomach, alleviating some of the pressure.

His stomach gurgles loudly in response, and Ryan starts, clamping a hand over his mouth, sure that he’s going to be sick. He surprises himself when he releases a loud burp instead.

“Excuse me.” He says quietly, face flushing.

“Fuck yes, that’s my boy. Let it out.” Jay groans appreciatively.

Swallowing hard, Ryan burps again, louder and longer this time. It should be disgusting but the release of the air is fucking amazing.

His eyes widen in shock when he realises belatedly that Jay is openly palming himself through his pants.

“You’ve got this, champ.”

Jay doesn’t break eye contact as he grinds the heel of his palm into his dick, challenging Ryan to look away. He’s so blatant about it that its almost blessedly an out, should he want to take it. Ryan, for his part, whimpers, his untended prick firming up to full hardness in response.

“You good?” Jay asks earnestly, leaning forward to resume his role in running his fingers teasingly over the outline of Ryan’s defined abs, jutting out beneath the curve of his belly. His free hand is out of sight but clearly still engaged.

“I’m good.” Ryan repeats with a nod, breath hitching as he shovels the other half into his mouth, chewing determinedly.

It is impossibly difficult. He knows it should be delicious but after eating so much, so quickly, the texture and flavour is basically akin to the slop that they served in prison. When he stops to take a breath mid-way through, his whole frame begins to shake with the effort of continuing.

Jay responds by leaning in close and beginning to tongue the pale curve of flesh that separates his belly from his pelvis, so firm and rounded out.

“You have no idea how good you look like this,  
baby boy,” Jay intones between stripping his skin with his mouth, “All laid out and full for me.”

“Fuck, Jay.” Ryan all out moans, unable to hide how fucking good if feels to be touched like this, to be touched at all.

“I know I was hard on you during the cut. You need a bit of the firm hand before kissing the ring, you know?” Jay babbles, assaulting him with the savage determination that he would an opponent in the cage.

“But you’ve got to understand how difficult it was for me too. Lubing you up, getting you all wet, listening to you make these unfathomable sounds you make when you want to quit. I know that makes me kind of sick, but I’m just a mere mortal in the presence of a god, after all.”

“Stop.” Ryan grunts, his pulse quickening.

“This?” Jay goes to pull off, only to find Ryan’s hand secured firmly around his neck.

“Talking like that,” Ryan pants, “Don’t put me on a pedestal. That’s not us, never has been.”

“Fine, but if I want to grovel at your feet for the goddamn specimen of masculinity that you are, I will, got it?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Daddy.”

Jay shuts his eyes as he sucks bruises into the skin, savouring how sweet the word sounds coming off the tongue of a man who mauls for a living.

“One more piece.”

“I’m done, please.” Ryan begs, with no care for how weak it might make him seem, “It hurts so bad, man. I’ll do anything.”

“Classic psychology, my friend. Your brain will give up before your body does, every time.” Jay hums, revelling in Ryan writhing beneath him as he inhales the blonde forest of his pubic hair, burying his nose in the bush and inhaling the salty scent, “You’ve got it in you, you just need the right motivation.”

Ryan chokes when Jay hands him the last slice with one hand and drags his pants down to bracket the top of his thighs with the other. His rock-hard dick slaps painfully against his bloated stomach, angry and red and drooling pre-come.

“What are you... going to do to me?” Ryan asks, absolutely dumb with lust as he watches Jay wet his lips.

“Put that in your mouth and find out.” Jay replies, sizing him up as though he’s the one whose starving.

Ryan doesn’t need to be told twice, cramming the pizza into his mouth without hesitation. His stomach is roiling and he’s genuinely not sure how he’s going to make it through this without hurling.

It’s all worth it when Jay takes him in his mouth like it’s nothing at all, sinks down on him like it’s a pleasure to render his services. He nearly shouts around the mouthful of bread when he feels himself slip into the tight cavern that is the back of his throat, nestled amongst the little dangling folds that reside there.

He bolts down the food like he’s famished still just to get through it, nearly gagging when he swallows in his haste to focus on the man below him.

Nothing can distract from the seismic waves of endorphins shooting from the curled tips of his toes up his spine, making the short strands of his close-cropped blonde hair stand on end.

Jay pulls off and he nearly cries in frustration when he uses his pre-come as lube, slicking his length before he begins lazily pumping his cock.

“Good boy, eating all your food up. Going to bulk you up in between fights, just to tear you apart for the cut and build you back up again.”

Ryan can’t speak, reduced to distressed mewls. He’s shuddering with desperation like a goddamn virgin about to blow his load for the first time.

“What did I tell you when you wouldn’t get off the floor of the sauna?” Jay demands.

It takes Ryan a second too long to find his tongue. Jay twists his fist up over the head of his prick, over sensitised and weeping, prompting a more speedy reply.

“You stepped on my balls and told me if I didn’t make weight, I wouldn’t get to come for another month.” Ryan cries desperately, angry tears slipping out of his eyes. He’s never felt so completely worthless and so insanely  
aroused at the same time.

“Did you jerk off before the fight?” Jay increases his rhythm, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“No, sir.”

“After?”

“No sir.”

“Why?”

“Because you’d know!” Ryan practically screams as Jay smothers the fat head of his cock with his mouth before mercilessly tearing himself away.

“You’re damn right, I’d know. Because hanging between those luscious thighs and framing that firm, little ass is a huge set of balls that I have inadvertently felt against my person during so many camps, that it would be ignorant of me to not know the difference between them being empty and full.”

“I need…please…” Ryan sobs.

Grown ass man, champion in his division, future prospect for the UFC, with snot and tears streaming uncontrollably down his face because his tummy hurts and his cock aches. With the post-fight adrenaline still coursing through his red-blooded veins and no release, it’s all too much.

“Tell me what you need from Daddy, baby.”

“Need…to c-come…” Ryan hiccups desperately.

Jay is already swallowing him down and he’s climaxing, thick and fast with the force of a goddamn freight train.

He doesn’t believe in God since the incident with his father, but thanks the universe or whatever cruel, omnipotent being is watching this depravity unfold for conspiring in his favour. Even if this is taken away like everything else good in his life, at least he had this, for one night.

There is a bright, luring light, then darkness.

When he comes too with a start, a sudden awakening like he’s been choked out, Jay’s arms are wounded around his chest, pinning him to him.

“Ssh, I’ve got you, Ryan. I’ve got you.”

Ryan settles sulkily with a huff and Jay chuckles, almost affectionately. They’re spooning on the couch with Jay behind him.

“This is a little gay, isn’t it?” Ryan says finally, breaking the silence.

He begins to laugh uncontrollably as Jay snorts into the fine hairs at the base of his neck before planting a kiss there.

“You okay grab ass with other men for a living, like this was ever going to go any other way,” The man behind him returns, “Blame it on the alcohol, like every other red-blooded American male before you.”

Ryan wrinkles his nose distastefully, running a stick hand down his body.

“Why am I covered in come?”

“It’s yours.”

“I didn’t pass out until after you swallowed.”

“Okay, so I got carried away...”

“Asshole.”

Ryan shifts uncomfortably and Jay stiffens behind him.

“Look, all jokes aside, I can go if you…?”

“Shut the fuck up so I can sleep, Jay.” Ryan snorts, before shoving his butt back into him to make space and get comfortable. He’s come drunk and exhausted and sated like he hasn’t been in the longest time.

“You know how Daddy feels about that tight little ass, Ryan. Be careful where you stick that thing or I’ll start to get creative.”

“Isn’t one nonconsensual sexual act enough for one night?”

“Please, you love it.”’

Ryan feigns an elbow as Jay giggles, hooking his leg around his hip and dragging him closer in submission.

His stomach cramps again with the movement and he groans, doubling over on himself.

“Is this what labour feels like?” He moans.

“For a world champion, you’re such a little bitch, Wheeler.”

“Rub my belly, please?” Ryan asks softly, disguising the request with a cough.

Jay sighs but begins the rhythmical circles again.

“You know, I don’t know what Alvey gets out of it if this is the level of commitment you expect from your people, but I hope you compensate him well, with services provided or otherwise.” 

Ryan pretends to be asleep, smiling into the arm that Jay has used to pillow his head.

“So, no return blowjob in the morning?” Jay queries, irritatingly alert given the hour and everything that’s transpired between them, “What was the point of your rehabilitation if you didn’t come out with any skills that would be of benefit to the civilian population?”

“Would it shut you up if I said yes?!”

“…maybe…”

Ryan can feel Jay’s smirk in the back of his neck, followed by too gentle lips pressing against his skin as he drifts off.

“Thanks.”

“Anything for the champ.”


End file.
